Third Thumb
by PervyPanda
Summary: I attempt to ground myself, weld my person to reality, but inner demons, trauma, guilt and a berserk wrath haunt my every waking step. A story of reluctant self-awareness as its best, worst, finest and most bloody. Fire Emblem Awakening Self-Insert with Gamer elements. M for immediate gore and later explicitness.
1. Chapter 1: Blood Rush

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I chop wood now. It's what I do.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

_Schooling? College? University? Media? Gaming? Taxes? Cars? Train tickets? Oyster cards? Computers? Phones? Plastic? Planes? Religion?_

No. Those days are behind me. They are no longer my concern.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

_Logic? Physics? Laws of nature? Common sense?_

Yes. They be gone too.

Who needs those losers anyway, we got magic. Not that that would concern this little one. No siree~ Mesa justa simple woodscutter master Jedi sir. Yesa, yesa.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Y'know? I've quite forgotten the sound those darn Gungans make… they did that weird face shake that made their cheeks slap right? I dunno, that was a lifetime ago...

Eh. Not that it concerns this little one. _Mesa justa simple woodscutter._

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Yesa. Yesa.

That essentially sums up the first fifteen years of my life. Aha! For those of you a tad soft in the head, a bit slow in the brain, a mite short of wit, allow me to clarify.

That basically sums up the first fifteen years of my _second _life

Chop. Chop. Chop.

This little one is strange no?

I know not how, nor why I was reborn- nay _reincarnated _here. If I serve some higher purpose, If I am a forgotten mistake, if I am truly alone, but really, who does anyway? Am I right or am I right?

Eh, well actually, seeing as I was abandoned at the foot of a church, one could assume I was a _form _of mistake, just… not a cosmic one.

Surprisingly, that doesn't really make me feel much better. This little one oft wonders why.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Whatevs.

Alas, most regrettably my life of "Chop. Chop. Chop." must end- it was too good to be true. The Lady Plot demands it with Sir Murphy as her ruthless enforcer. I didn't stand a chance before their tyrannical ruling.

_This little one's virgin body was helpless to their whims._

When I was fifteen, I met the blue haired, asshole ponce, harem making, pretty boy, royal idiot, raiju bastard, main _fucking _character. And from there… down the rabbit hole I went.

Chop. Chop. Chop no more?

_Well. Not really._

Thusly, this little one's story, or my inclusion to the MC's story, started rather predictably with the staple produce of these lands... bandits.

_How cliche could one get?_

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My reality is probably being played in Japan. Long ago I accepted this. I dunno which anime or manga or visual novel or RPG it is, the names on the map ring no bells, but I'm fairly sure my conclusion is correct.

This of course means the world follows "game logic", in that there is somehow just as many bandits and brigands and miscreants willing to raid and loot and pillage, as there are normal citizens.

Which is stupid.

Any kingdom that was half made up of marauding rapists would have fallen long ago.

But this is real life, not bound by petty logic and economics, bandits are an important source of exp, the main character needs a steady supply. Birth-rates? How do they fill up the ranks so quickly? Pffft. Not important. We'll just clone 'em under the royal palace or some fatty noble's land, nobody will notice.

_I am one with the meta, the meta is me._

Thus, as a result of these government approved cloning facilities scattered across the land, there's truck _loads _of the fucks.

I _swear_, my kill count is reaching triple figures and I'm not even twenty- I mean for fucks sake, at least let me reach adulthood before joining the ranks of the worst serial killers back home right?

It never fails to bring an unsightly crooked smile this little one's face.

I don't like murdering. I don't like being a killer, but I do what's necessary. If I don't descend into hell who will?

Err. Pretty sure I fudged the meaning behind that quote though, wasn't it something about teaching sinners in hell? Buddha exists in the dirtiest of places as he does atop a lotus flower 'n' all that? I Dunno. This little one is ignorant.

Been a long while since I was able to look over Sutras.

This little one misses that.

I still wish to one day achieve inner peace, my own nirvana, ascend to heaven or whatever, but I don't think that's possible anymore. I can't wash the blood of my hands.

They just drip.

No matter how flippant, or often I speak of it now, my mind cracked the first time another man's lifeblood sprayed across my face, it shattered further as I repeated it like a man in prayer the very same day.

This little one's mind shattered into shards.

Alas, this little sinner had little choice but to use those shards as weapons, though it may cut my hands asunder, to defend and protect.

Would Allah, Jesus, Buddha or whoever still smile upon me this day?

Ah. This little one is a hypocrite as well as a sinner you would learn. Even though I said I left religion behind, it is hard to burn stone bridges. Even now this little one seeks reassurance. I have no parents nor teachers to look to for approval, thus that leaves this little one with the divine.

Fat lot they did me. Gods that don't grant wishes are useless to humans, but this little one is too alone and too weak to abandon them completely. Even though I know religion to be a flawed concept borne of mortal perception, this little one clung to those scant memories from _before _like a child starved.

It pissess right me off, but this little one finds comfort in them, so there's little I can do.

It was with this mindset, a tumbling of thoughts, recycled notions, regurgitated emotions and fragments of faith that I faced each day with.

_Today was no different._

"GRAAA-gyk!" A man grown, eyes of blue with blond hair and a scraggly beard, wielding a short sword in each hand, was cut off mid shout by my axe in his throat- then through his neck and out the other side.

_I really wish it were._

This little one tried his best to put the laugh lines and tears on the man's face far from his mind.

To little avail.

Nonetheless I still moved. Moved to take another life, steal another father from their son. I moved to murder and maim.

Ribbons of red trailed through the air as the sword in my other hand beheaded yet another assailant in one, clean swing. Strings of tangled red, grey and white sprouted from a woman's skull as I twirled my axe through it. A man folded in on himself as I shattered his pelvis with my heel.

_Seven seconds, two dead, one little better._

This little one has sinned.

I didn't give a shit.

But I was still worried.

The ringing of bells and shouts came from the eastern wall, not the southern wall as per norm. That would either mean the raiders have been smart about it and managed to sneak their way further inland then hook around to strike from the east, or all the sentrys on the southern wall were killed before they could raise the alarm.

Both possibilities I loathe to entertain.

Had they snuck in from the east, then our sister village in that direction is most likely also under siege.

A most unfortunate timing; seeing as half of the militia members from the adjacent villages are gathered here for joint military exercises.

_Bugger._

I sprinted to the east gate as fast as my strength build could take me.

Notably, there were no damage nor dead bodies left behind those three bandits. A few men were injured, one with a bleeding stump, all of whom I gave a reassuring nod, but no corpses.

The three had sprinted straight for the chieftain's hut, where they unfortunately ran afoul me.

'_Why was that man crying? Was it truly just fear? Fear for one's life?'_

I had a vague sense this raid was a tad atypical.

This little one was too busy building rage to notice however.

_Good thing I'm here._

The sounds of the skirmish up ahead loudened as I drew near. Short powerful shouts, clanging of metals, ringing of bells and cut off screams.

Other folk, those who lived nearer to the wall, rushed past me to my sides. They all had looks of relief when they saw me, shoulders slackened, faces lost tension, and a few smiled at their children in reassurance, they themselves reassured by me.

First time visitors and new merchants would wonder at the respect and authority my fifteen-year-old self commanded over those that live here, but the suspension bridge effect is a powerful thing.

I reached the wooden palisade turned reinforced wall in a few more bullshit enforced strides. It wasn't as bad as I thought.

That was bad. The chances this strike was a feint had suddenly risen.

I moved to a group standing aside the stairs leading up the walls instead of joining the fight at the main gate straight away. The gate was breached, as was expected, but the spiked-boxfort barrier and spear-line was holding strong.

"Situation." I demanded briskly from a lad (a year older than I) armed with a spear waiting with a few others his age for the orders to rush up. A wise protocol, too many defenders stuffed onto the small foot space atop the walls would prove demerital.

"Ah, Cap'n!" I watched the same process of emotion appear on the boys before me as I did the retreating civilians. The boy straightened and reported as professionally as one could hope. "Is nat as bad as we'd thought when we rushed too, the folks up top on patrol held well. Even though the raiders actually brought some ladders, dey were smashed pronto!" He exclaimed jubilantly.

"Ah, but," His face fell slightly. "The gate di'nae fall to a bash or nutin like normal, but someone threw an axe right through it. Dat axe there." He says pointing at an axe half dug into the ground I looked over before.

It was decent, If a bit lengthy? Wooden handle a meter long with a single head of unadorned steel. Similar to my own woodcutter's axe save the head's a fair bit wider.

"Plus then," the lad continued, face souring further, "then four others sprinted in proper quick, past everyone else, before we could drop the spikes and boxfort. They didn't kill no-one, but dey did cut of ol' Gam's arm when they passed."

My eye twitched. _Four _others? Shit. One is still loose inside my village. What to d- **no**. Deal with that later. _Task focus_.

"I killed three." I inform them. "We will conduct the mourning-bell test later if they are not found."

"Ah," they have looks of understanding. "Okay then."

Just then, an injured man limps down the stairs. "Switch! Two!" He calls.

The lad at the front of the line, nearest the stairs, helps the man down while analysing the wound. A trainee healer I note.

The second and third in line ready their spears, far less relaxed than they were when I was talking.

As they head up the first steps to their possible demise, they for whatever reason, look to me. This little one cries.

I give them a solemn nod. Never sure what to say to children heading to battle, but hoping my charisma will carry and assure.

This little one cries some more when they nod back and turn to violence with boosted confidence.

I march on as the whimpers and sobs turn once more to mounting rage.

"Tallin." I note the injured man's name, one of the adults who passed my militia training regime. Decent with a spear, better with a mace or club. "Enemy composition?"

"Demon lad!" He cries exuberantly. I watch the familiar process of emotion, then the (also) familiar straightening and professionalism. "At least fifty. Couple o' horses. Five ladders, two destroyed. Axe lady, ah, the gal who broke the gate, hasn't joined the fight. She's sitting around all bored like behind the chums and out of range. Some scrawny fella next to her, looks like a duellist. No mages we seen yet." He reports. "The human lads already told ya about the four who snuck in yea?"

I nod, both pleased at the conciseness and answering the question, but frown at the situation.

"Three dead. Mourning-bell test later." I inform shortly once more.

"Ah, aye." The same look of comprehension flashed across his face. People can be some simple and similar sometimes.

Now... what to do.

I turn around, leaving Tallin to be tended to, and observe the spear line thrust over the boxfort and spikes at the raiders, contemplating my options.

From the sounds and looks of things, my people are holding well enough.

The boxfort and spikes were a proposal of my own, it's heartening to see it work so well once more.

In this bullshit empowered world gates, wooden ones anyway, are flimsy. Unless the wood is also suitably bullshit empowered (magic enchanted), stone or metal panels, gates are little more than decorations before any semi-determined force.

I personally can splinter one with a good kick, and it only takes a group of five or six village strongmen to bash it down or take it off its hinges. Alas, "proper" gates that actually function as a barrier are too expensive for a border town like us. Even with the bonus defence stipend.

Only the southern wall (made of pure stone) gets an enchanted metal gate, but It sucks up our budget to maintain like a drugged up whore.

Thus the boxfort idea.

Well, I'm bigging it up, but all it is is a stone barricade on make-shift rails and giant wooden caltrops that are dropped down from the wall.

I proposed a layered defense. Fully accepting the gate as a liability and incorporating it into the defence plan. In fact, when there was enough money saved up to fortify the Palisades, I went as far as to completely ignore upgrading the gates and suggested buying multiple hinges instead.

The advise of my thirteen-year-old self was heeded well.

The stone boxfort looks like a recreation of a WWII bunker, which it was sorta, except made of large stone slabs in place of smoother, steel-wired concrete. The largest problem during conception was placement.

It needed to be close enough to the opening the gate left, but far enough to allow in and out civilian traffic, that includes horse and cart. To the east were our flax fields after all.

In the end, this little one suggested a stupidly smart idea I'm frankly astounded operates at all.

'_Put the thing on rails.' _Like an artillery gun, but the complete opposite function.

Well it worked, obviously.

In peacetime, the fort is in two parts, fastened on rails to the sides. They are slightly elevated on man-made mounds until duty calls. Then the leather ropes and stone wedges holding fast are removed. The stone is pushed by men pulled by gravity down wooden rails and lengthwise logs.

The two part fort clashes together in front of the gate. Usually leaving snapped logs and splintered rails in its wake.

_But it's worth it._

The fort front wall is almost two meters tall, the walls to the side are slightly shorter and the back is open. The people inside stand taller on a raised floor and can either thrust over the walls with long spears of shoot with bows at those further away.

_Egad it's worth it._

With the destroyed gate acting as a funnel, Fort Stump is fairly easy to defend.

In addition to this, I added to this little one's idea with giant caltrops. The fort is good and nothing really is going to get through easily, but armoured cavalry is still a problem.

Not one we've ever had to face, but I've seen them from afar. They, a line of seven armoured cavalry, _**demolished **_a hill with a single charge. It was absurd. It was stupid. It was fucking bullshit.

_This little one tries not to think much on the flesh placed atop the hill._

Thus; giant wooden caltrops. They even have metal wire wrapped around some spikes with the odd barb here and there.

Expanding on this little ones horizontal thinking, I went vertical.

Normally placed on a ledge overhanging the wall slightly were a cluster of giant reinforced, wooden caltrops. Each two meters long and one and a half metres tall, they were heavy, requiring two or three strongmen apiece to lift.

They would be dropped or thrown both inside the wall, flanking the stone fort, and outside, where the gate used to be.

I do not expect these stop a charge, what's wood to a fucking **hill**, but at the very least perhaps it may slow down one or two enough for everyone else to run away.

_That is, as long as the cavalry don't decide to just take a shot at the wall itself._

Now the gap in our wall is protected by three layers, the heavy caltrops outside, the caltrops inside, then the stone boxfort. That's not to mention the archers atop the wall.

But just three layers isn't much eh?

Behind the stone fort away from the wall in the yard surrounding the eastern entrance, was a "proper" (if minuscule) wooden castle being built.

Furthering the makeshift, on demand, layered defences, I took inspiration from Toyotomi Hideyoshi's Sunomata Castle. A castle that was built off site then transported in modules to a key location and put together overnight by local carpenters. Thus creating the effect of a castle being "built in one night."

Construction was going well. We have to make sure it's lower than the walls that hide it, but the castle (more of a second wall) has two floors. It is sparsely populated, but it need not be really.

The mental impact of breaking through one wall _and _a weird stone wedge thing after a hard fought battle only to see a second looming down over you is damaging enough.

I watch my people scurry about with a purpose. Swift but not panicked, regulation, protocol and practise curbing heavily on the mind killer.

I like to think my presence does a bit too.

The layered defence has been applied heavily to the east (flax fields) and west (river fishing) gates, then to an abused degree to the north.

To the north are our wheat fields and main route to the next biggest town are. It's where merchants and food carts pass through most frequently.

My people had taken my ideas and made them bloom most beautifully. Not only to defend, but to _prosper_.

I resist the inappropriate urge to smile. This little one denies myself the feel of pride nowadays, but there are exceptions.

_My smart little tsundere is smart._

Willful student aside, I do believe I have been contemplating long enough. This little one has built enough rage.

'_No.'_ I shake my head. '_There's never enough rage.'_

My forehead bulges.

(Play: Hi-Finesse Music - Destructo)

**But it's enough for this scum.**

"**T**al**l**i**n.**" This little one calls, my voice with an odd reverb. "T**he** a**x**e **l**a**d**y. **Ha**s sh**e** m**ove**d s**i**n**c**e **t**h**r**o**wi**n**g** t**he** **ax**e?"

My muscles ripples unhealthily.

"Sir! No sir!" I grin at the answer. W**ha**t a **f**un**n**y m**an**.

"_G**o**o**od**_~" This little one purrs.

I walk deliberately over to the half concealed axe. Controlling my steps carefully.

My limbs twitch abnormally.

I stumble to the axe, staring blankly at it. This little one sobs tears of regret at smiling. This little one sobs tears of regret at purring. **Th**is **l**it**tl**e **o**n**e** **s**o**bs** **t**e**a**r**s** **of** r**e**gr**et** **a**t b**ei**n**g** **ha**p**py**.

My hair rises.

I pick it up. This little one notes it's heavy. This little one observes the pummel. I note the metal tubing inside the wooden shaft. This little one notes the steel edge is wielded to the metal inside the shaft.

My lips twist and writhe.

In my mind's eye I saw flame. T**hi**s l**it**t**l**e **o**n**e** st**rod**e **t**o**w**a**rds** i**t**. I walked to the gate.

My teeth grind.

The flame licked at me. L**ip**s **s**o **red**, **h**a**nd**s **s**o **hot**. I joined the men in the boxfort.

My skin is darkening.

Flame circles me. **Wa**i**ti**n**g** f**o**r t**hi**s **l**i**tt**l**e** **on**e**eE**_**EEe**e_. I take a deep breath.

My eyes close.

It's like gears y'know? In a quiet corner of my mind I look out over the sea of redness. You need to warm them up. I jump on top of the fort wall.

I cock back my hand, axe held loosely within my grasp.

You need to work up to top gear. Carefully, patiently, so you don't lose control. Keep it all reined in until…

**Sin**k**i**n**g** **in**t**o** f**lam**e.

_The most..._

I conduct from a small corner.

_Opportune…_

**Eve**r**yth**i**ng** **sh**u**dde**r**s**.

Invoking class skill.

_Moment._

**[**Mad Enhancement**]**

My eyes open red.

**This little one roars.**

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**[**Primary Class: Berserker(*****)**]  
****[**Secondary Class: Village Chief (Lvl 5)(Exp 12/50)**]  
****[**Tertiary Class: _-Locked-_**]**

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**[**One Star Berserker**]**

A class that trades one's sanity, morality and consciousness for power. Filled with rage and wrath or sorrow and remorse, it does matters not. This class feeds one's mind to an all consuming tsunami of fire in exchange for a boost in all, save one, physical stats. This boost is actualised through the skill **[**Mad Enhancement**]**

**Pros**: Grants **[**Mad Enhancement**]  
**+2 _Vitality _per level up.  
+2 _Strength _per level up.

**Cons**: Greater affinity with metal afflictions and maladies.

User qualifies as a One Star (*****) Berserker.

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**[**Mad Enhancement (Lvl 21)(Exp 32/210)**]  
****[**Class Skill _Locked _(Active/Passive)**]**

Alternatively "Blind Rage" is the skill that characterises the Berserker class. Raising basic parameters and strengthens one's physical abilities in exchange for hindering mental capacities and/or in exchange for their sense of reason. One may also lose fine motor control and/or techniques.

**Pros**: Raise all flat physical parameters (_Vitality_, _Strength_, _Speed_) save _Stamina _by: 21%. (Enhancement = Skill Level)  
Gain resistance to mental defects and mind related spells, be they benign or malicious to the user, by: 10.5%. (Resistance = ½ Skill Level)

**Cons**: Reduction of reasoning: Proportionate to usage of skill. Greatest reduction possible _directly _influenced by skill usage: 41% (Reduction = Skill Level x 2)

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**[**Mental Pollution (Lvl:12)(Exp 98/120)**]**

**[**Personal Skill _Locked _(Passive)**]**

A Skill where due to possessing a distorted mentality, it is possible for one to shut out any mental interference/debuffs/buffs. At the same time, it becomes nigh impossible for one to come to complete mutual understanding with individuals who do not possess an equivalent rank of Mental Pollution.

It should be noted "shut out" does not mean "resistance". E.g. Should user come under the effect of a _fear _aura cast at a higher level than the skill's ability, user would feel the full effect of said skill without interference. User must rely on unaided personal discipline and determination to neutralise effect.

**Pros/Cons**: Ability to ignore Mental Interference: 18% (Shut Out = Skill Level + (Skill Level/2))

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**AN**: So I did this thing.

Found myself reading some Fire Emblem Self Inserts between writing Under Dim Lighting. I was a bit disappointed honestly.

They were all either edgy "realistic" inserts with "real problems" that made them "relatable" and all that shit. I dunno, is "asshole-ness" a general affliction? Do we really, really, _really _need to seek approval of everybody with a pair of tits?

On the other side of the spectup, you have power fantasies. No. Just no. Thay are what give SI's their bad name.

The MetaLover one was alright but I didn't find anything This Bites standard, which is surprising given the large, almost cult fanbase.

Then again, not much stands up to standard of This Bites, but I was hoping for something that at least _approaches _it.

Then I realised I was being extremely ungrateful, under-appreciating the work that had been done. Speaking as if I _hadn't_ spent fuck knows how long binging whatever I could get my hands on.

Sorta felt like smacking myself.

So I decided to expand the community. Create as well as consume y'know?

Eh. Well look at me talking like a big shot. Guess being an asshole is a staple for humanity?

Whatever. This is just me taking shots in the dark while letting off steam. Slugging through Dim Lighting is proving trying, but we are almost finished with that particular prologue.

So, tell me what ya think. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see ya'll later.


	2. Chapter 2: Exalted blood

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She was quite aware that her eyes were alight.

This place fascinated her. Nameless to all but those who thrive here; here against adversity, against nature, against the siren of violence, her people had carved a home amongst houses. Emmeryn felt like a girl anew gazing upon their wonders.

She beheld the working people buzz on and off long and wide strips of flooring, or rather; "open air, open walled carriages", as they were introduced, but she could really only think of them as floating floors.

The way they seemingly drifted over the ground at a constant distance and constant pace, made it hard to believe they were completely bereft of magic.

But they were. The Village Chief and a young boy, pre-teen, had most proudly displayed their wood and metal "rails" and the cogs and wheels and bolts and pivots and pumps that make them move.

It went quite over her head for the most part, but she understood the general gist. The effort, the trial and error and sheer craftsmanship they must have put into even a "simple" handcar made her want to gawp.

Alas, that would be unbecoming of an Exalt. Even undercover as she was.

It made her want to pout, _Phila and Freddie were a match ordained by Naga_, she thought, _even if my stellar matchmaking skills were somehow countered at every turn and pass._

A source of endless consternation but a few months ago.

_It must be an top-class attendant thing._

She was so sure this time too.

This time she did pout, albeit hidden beneath her hood. Though a simple side glance from her _dear _attendant swiftly deflated the cheek.

_How!?_

Emmeryn felt like a girl anew for a completely different reason now.

_I'll have your holidays for high-treason…_ She grumbled internally.

"So then, little prince, how fares our quaint little home before your august eyes eh?" A voice from upfront whacks her from the mutinous thoughts against her most dearly beloved, always-right, I-don't-have-a-smug-smile, disobey-me-at-your-own-peril, I-poop-_**discipline(!)**_ attendant that plagued her mind.

Which in hindsight, was probably a good thing.

The one to spare her from a bleak future was a man of advancing years. The village elder and chief was a personage she could only consider "fitting" to oversee such an... eccentric village.

As they passed, another houseful of people and supplies offloaded a carriage, still slowly moving, letting a group of equal numbers quickly take the empty spot.

_Could this place even be termed a village anymore? _

The hooded Exalt silently observed their tour guide as her beloved brother's excited babbles responded back.

The Elder and Chief was a hardy man, something expected of one qualified for the **[**Elder**]** class in a border town such as this, and it shows. His weathered skin tell a storied life, adorned by scars of all assortments.

Burn marks, prominent on his neck, stab wounds, shanks, left hand seemingly nailed through in the past.

There were stitched grooves left by slashes, all across the forearms, and whole missing chunks of flesh that never really filled in… predominantly, part his left arm's bicep seemed to have been chewed off but lacked the vitality to regrow.

Now the arm hung half limp and rested on a rustic looking walking stick.

Most striking of all, however, were the scars of ageing; liver spots, sagging skin, wrinkles and almost carved laugh lines.

His remaining hair was stark white and brittle looking, stabbing every which way messily. With a completely bald crown, it appeared as if he wore a wreath of white.

He was old and worn. A well used set of armour long past its prime.

Yet he was happy. Jovial even. Bushy white eyebrows danced and wriggled to the teasing tilt of his tone. An almost permanent lopsided, toothy grin showed exactly where the laugh lines came from, and despite the cane, his steps were light and springy.

Indeed, he seemed very… alive.

Emmeryn blinked at that.

_Well of course he's alive you silly girl._ She admonished herself.

The point stood however, just as the Elder held tall, straight backed. There was a lively glint to what should have been muddied eyes, and despite the natural frailness that came with age, one could still tell how broadly built he was, even under large baggy brown robes.

Robes he wore with sleeves rolled up to display two scarred but wire-like muscled arms.

It was most atypical. Especially when compared to those of the **[**Elder**]** class who tutored her, and her family, growing up.

As expected of siblings, her beloved little brother shared her path of thought:

"Sir is unlike any **[**Elder**]** class I've ever seen! Is that normal here? Do you have super not-magic that keep you lively, like those "rails" things?!" Though he asked in a manner most unbecoming of her, but somehow endearing when asked by him.

The big sister within cooed, while the Exalt winced on his behalf.

Sometimes Emmeryn was jealous of her siblings freedom.

_No. _No, jealousy was the wrong word, perhaps it felt just a tad bittersweet?

Emmeryn was hesitant to agree with her innermost thoughts.

"Bwahahaha!" The Elder's booming voice once more saved her from a dark path.

_Fair bit louder than one would expect of an old man too…_ She noted wryly.

"Nay laddie!"-"Laddie!" Emmeryn hid a giggle as the young boy, _the Elder's grandson_, echoed the word, much to the eye-twitching of her attendant. "Nothing super-" The Elder's grandson made a strange pose; clashing his forearms together facing outwards above his head, "**superrrr!**"

The group stalled, not for the first time, at the boy's strange antics while his grandfather looked on fondly.

"Nay." The Elder rolled his eyes as we resumed. "Nothing _super_," he sent a pointed look at a grinning grandson, "just some demonic exercise from a demon laddie."

"Ah?" Her brother tilted his head in tune to her own. "Demonic exercise? Demon laddie?"

"Ye-""Brother Yanyan!" The grandson, _should really learn his name, this is plain rude,_ interrupted once more.

… Emmeryn could swear to most holy Naga he was shooting sparkles from his eyes.

_-Unnngh. _It was awakening the muddy-Lissa protocol from its place sealed deep within, it was only Phila's firm grip on her arm keping the rabid beast at bay.

"Yes," the elders voice took on a different tone, softer, as he smiled at his grandson indulgently. "Your brother Yanyan."

"Oh," he was facing away, but Emmeryn was sure her brother's eyes lit up in understanding- in an unbecoming way most likely. She would allow it, he didn't _get _things this quick usually. "Another of Elder's grandsons?"

Her beloved baby brother was one half of the light that guided her, but he wasn't the greatest of thinkers. That she could admit.

_Still behead a bitc_\- ahem. _She would be most displeased with anyone else who might suggest so however._

"Mmm." The Elder hummed in confirmation. His smile becoming a smaller, more sincere version of the lopsided grin prior. "Not by blood mind, but with him, I have a total of three grandsons and an honorary granddaughter." He chuffs happily thinking of them, "they are family."

Chrom's head nodded in agreement so fast it was almost a blur.

"Family is important!" He yelled, louder than was strictly necessary. "Ugh..." Then hunched slightly at the amused looks from the villagers around shot him.

_Brother dearest… _The Exalt resisted a cringe at such a break in etiquette. One she would most definitely punish by stuffing him with sweetmeats and muffins later.

"Yes indEED!" The Elder yelled back… louder. Earning cringes for a different reason. There was also a slightly different look in his eyes when he looked at her brother, something akin to approval.

_Nevermind. Go Chrom, go!_ Big sister voice shouted with them, punching a fist mentally.

_Sincerity, no matter how awkward, is key to an equally sincere relationship._ Exalt voice noted, far more reserved but no less pleased.

"""Gwahahahahaha!""" Three sets of voices laughed in unison, the Elder, his grandson and her brother, all holding the same pose with fists on hips and head tossed back, pleased at finding a common ground.

The remaining of the journey to the chiefs abode continued much upon the same vein.

Full of many "Gwahaha"s, a burping contest, attendant's eye-twitching, first row seats to a local "sumo wrestling" competition, and ending in an in-depth discussion on the correct way to groom chest hair.

_Ugh._ Emmeryn shared a most un-Exalt look with her attendant, one said attendant had no mind to admonish. _Men._

The Exalt sniffed daintily.

.

.

Emmeryn, Exalt of Ylisse, to-be Governess of Ylisstol, was enjoying what would become one of her last memories of unfettered freedom with a cup of tea.

She knew what was coming, and would embrace it with open arms. There was no "but" or "however" to this statement. For she had freely chosen this path herself.

Soon, upon taking up the mantle as Governess of Ylisstol from an ageing steward, she would truly be wed to her land once and for all. Aside from her siblings, her people would become her one and only true love.

Not that she doesn't already love her people. You couldn't be more false.

But there was something absolute about becoming the Governess of Ylisstol for her. Something that would take her a step away from humanity and into the realms of Sovereigns...

_Hmph. Well look at you now Emmy. Realm of Sovereigns you say hmm? _The young lady snidely berated herself.

It was a term she thought herself awfully arrogant for considering.

The freedom, or lack of which, was twofold and self-imposed.

Upon becoming the Governess of Ylisstol, Emmeryn had resigned herself to never leave again, out of filial duty and pragmatism.

Ylisstol was the last heirloom and rite left by her ancestors for any Exalt of Ylisse. Due to a series of convoluted events a few generations after the First Exalt, Ylisstol, the city itself, was classed on the same level to that of the Fire Emblem and Falchion, the sword of her brother.

Ylisstol, was technically an object. To be exact, Ylisstol; _the crown jewel of Ylisse_, was also Ylisstol; _the hereditary crown of the Exalt_.

Ylisstol, the Fire Emblem and Falchion, alongside a handful of other estates across the Halidom, due to a slightly outdated tradition are termed "Royal Peculiars."

Royal Peculiars are exempt from all other forms of administration, including any religious movements, and belongs solely to the ruling monarch.

_Her._

The people of Ylisstol were her people more than anyone else in Ylisse, just as much as she was theirs.

Emmeryn had worked too hard, given up too much and loved her people to an extent that bordered unhealthy. She could not stop. Ylisstol was the final step to truly becoming the Exalt.

It was her seat of power. Aside from faithful devotion to her subjects, it was also the most practical choice.

Ylisstol was the crowning jewel of Ylisse, its location, culture, trade and defensibly simply made Ylisstol the most realistic place to govern from. It was, after all, where her predecessors administered from.

_Though rarely to the constant, almost devout extent she planned on._

Hesitant as Emmeryn was to call Ylisstol her "birthright", It was still her crown and throne. It is where she shall sleep, she shall eat, she shall rule, she shall live and where she shall die.

Only in the most dire of circumstances would she allow herself to be absent from her duty-bound place.

She wished for peace, she would ensure it with herself.

Her people, her siblings, deserved it.

Emmeryn took another sip from her cup of tea, closing her eyes to aptly taste it.

At that moment, under the bright midday rays and dressed in only the most simple of garbs, Emmeryn was the very picture of gentle grace and majesty she was meant to be.

Her hair did not reflect the light, but seemed to capture it, causing light to stray and dally around her head, struck with a longing for the Exalt. One did not need to imagine a halo any longer.

She was not bright, nor blinding, but serene and humble yet somehow maintaining a sense of piety required of a sovereign, something that made her untouchable.

Ever present and waiting, patient and caring, but just out of reach.

Picturesque, peaceful, and a touch melancholic.

Emmeryn basked in the warmth cast on her face.

… _My tea's gone cold._

Then sighed.

_Ah- shoulders back, chin in._ She thought, righting her posture. Then blinked. A thoughtful look crossed her.

_Hmmm?_ Sneakily, her eyes darted from side to side. Eyeing the corners especially with a superstitious gaze.

_Phila had never displayed an aptitude for teleportation or transparency before… _Emmeryn thought warily, _but you can never be too sure._

She stood- nay _rose _from hair chair in a most courtly fashion. The mere act of her standing would no doubt bring many a noble to their knees in awe and worship.

She did not walk, she _glided _across the floor, her feet to precious to touch the ground. Each and every stride ethereal enough to make men weep in shame at having to make her walk.

Most majestically, she performed a dainty little kick in the spaces of the four corners of her assigned room. The shadows seemingly chased away by her presence. Her delicate foot waved through empty air each time.

She smiled. The world orgasmed.

Finally satisfied there was no attendants using transparency spells to watch over her from a corner of her room, The Exalt glided back to her chair and table, placed before the open balcony.

But stopped halfway. The dust particles in the air rejoiced. She eyed the bed carefully. The bed preened.

As silent as could be, the Exalt bent over slowly. Young boys around the globe reached nirvana. Suddenly, graceful as a swan, the Exalt ducked her head, searching the underside of the bed for any _**discipline(!)**_-poopers. The underside of the bed twerked lewdly.

Now fully satisfied and with a curiously blank face, the Exalt once more graced the seat with her presence. The sun stilled in the sky, waiting with bated breath for her next action.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs through her nose, then…

Slumped.

"_Hehehehe~_" Emmeryn triumphed mightily at having no one around to tell her to fix her posture and enjoyed slouching as far as she could to an unreasonable extent.

"_Ehehehehehehe~_" But it was adorable, so all was forgiven.

"Fwaaaaa..." She let out a pleased sigh, barely even sitting; her back was to the seat of the chair while her head rested against the crook of one of its arms. Legs no longer in a proper "duchess sitting position", but poking out from under the opposite side of the table.

She held the position, surprisingly comfortable, enjoying the pleasant ache that came with stretching out tired legs.

It had been a long journey, even split between horseback and carriage as it was. This place was one of the final destinations of her Halidom wide tour, it would seem the fatigue was finally catching up with her.

Her excitement could only suppress it for so long after all.

Truly it had only been a whim to come this far, originally they would merely stop by the Duke of Themis's estate then move on, but the "tall tales" of merchants had intrigued the wanderlust within her brother.

She also noted how her dear brother desperately wished to extend her final stint as far and long as possible.

_Sweetmeats and muffins._ She promised.

The other half of the light that guided her, her joy to her pride, Lissa had unfortunately been forced to stay at the estate. Even with all precautions possible taken, it was simply too dangerous for her delicate baby sister to go as far as a border village.

At least she had the Duke's daughter, _sweet little Maribelle_, to keep her company.

The young lady was falling fast to her Lissa's charms.

_Fufufufu. Resisting Lissa-bear? Muda Muda Muda Muda Muda~_

What a quaint phrase.

Emmeryn had assumed when they arrived at the "village" early morn, having stopped closer than they thought the previous night, they would be offered hospitality and rest till midday. Perhaps then, they might set off to oversee production, make inquiries on general issues and _maybe _investigate the source of those "tall tales".

Obviously, that was not to be.

They were swept up, carried by the winds of discovery and propelled by their own curiosity. Not even Freddie or Phila were exempt.

The Elder had taken the surprise visit from the prince and entourage in his stride, showcasing their home with practised ease. It would seem they were not the first to be given such treatment.

This place was treasure chest, tucked away in a corner of her land.

It would be protected, cherished and nurtured. Even then, she hadn't even _begun _thinking on how she might apply the invitations displayed to the rest of her Halidom yet.

No doubt it's value shall rise further still when she realises the true implications of locomotion, and what extremes it could be applied to.

"Mmmm…" But that would _allll _come later.

For now, she would simply enjoy the luxury of rebuke-free slothfulness.

...

Of course, that was when the bells started ringing.

.

.

"▃▄▅▆▆▇▇▇▇" For a brief moment, I was truly inarticulate, bereft of humanity.

Then I moved, bestial and berserk. I wasn't thinking, I simply did. There was no thought, only instinct. It was a single motion, but it was enough.

When I returned to humanity, my hand was empty.

The axe flew and whistled through the air, a physical echo this little ones **roar**.

**Bl**o**o**d. B**l**o**od**. **B**lo**od**.

The liquid sprayed, misting the air. Three- or was it four- bodies shredded. Packed together in such a tight space, attacking my boxfort, a**ha**h**a**ha**ha**-

**F**o**ol**s.

**B**lo**o**d**. B**l**o**o**d. B**lo**od. B**l**o**o**d**. **Bloo**-

The stench threatened to engulf me. Feed the flame.

It was petrol. Fueling my battlelust.

"A**h**h**h**h**h**." I cracked my neck from side to side, strolling past the cowering foes, now pressed desperately against the walls of the passage.

A new stench spoiled the delectable aroma.

A wail of sorrow from up ahead distracted me from _**re**__p__**ri**__m__**a**__n__**d**__i__**ng**_ the raiders present. They could wait.

I continued walking. **[**Mad Enhancement**]** was always like this.

I become less and **m**o**r**e at the same time.

My mind simple, stunted, and severe.

It would devolve into a mindless screeching, cries for blood and bawling for battle given enough time. I would become mindless in all ways that mattered. T**h**is **l**itt**l**e o**n**e and I would disappear in a haze of red and sweet smelling blood.

_If I let it._

Violence was my directive yes, but _I was still I_. Th**is** lit**t**le on**e** **w**as s**t**ill th**i**s lit**tl**e **on**e.

We kept each other in check.

As should be. This little one will need my wits about us to face an enemy hero.

Light assaulted us, sparking another anger added to the fire, but the air cleared of blood, fanning the still aware corners of my mind with a fresh breeze.

_Good._

Rage was fuelled and tempered. I stepped forth. This **lit**tl**e** on**e** ba**y**e**d** for b**a**tt**l**e. I must ground myself soon and quick.

I spied the source of the wail… and where the axe found its mark.

T**hi**s **li**t**t**l**e** **o**n**e** s**m**i**l**e**d**.

"**Ha! **H**a**h**ah**-" No. No, no, nono**no** laughter.

M_u_r_d_er n_ot_ fu_n_n_y_.

-Deep breaths. Cycle the air. You're a mess. Calm. Think. Purpose. Lead. Example.

T**h**is li**tt**le o**n**e c**o**nti**n**u**e**d wal**k**in**g**, I watched, I surveyed, I waited.

_Lead by example._

My stance, my expression, my walk can all be seen by those atop the walls. Those who trust me.

I must not disappoint them.

A woman, scantily dressed in purples, cradled a lanky figure within her arms. His chest a mess of red and white. The axe, now stained red, was tossed to the side.

There was none else in the vicinity. There were horses in the distance, but they were still. I dimly noted the sound of skirmishing behind me had paused.

The woman glared at me, tears in her eyes.

_Remember your purpose._

"_You_ did this." She hissed. Her beauty was warped by wrath. I was grateful.

Her spite grounded me in reality. Colours lost their red tinge. A pleasant smell captured my senses.

The fields. Our fields. I've tilled here. My people tend to these lands. Flax. A sea of lavender. Lighter than the woman's clothing. Ours. Our work. Our life.

**B**e**a**u**ti**f**u**l.

I would defend it.

_Think and understand, do not avert thine eyes._

"**Y**e**s**." This little ones voice, though still with an inhuman reverb, was steadier than before. I stared at her unflinching.

_Be calm and studious, even in the face of derision. _

I understood, or had a good inkling why she hated me. Vague to to th**i**s lit**tl**e **o**n**e**s addled mind it may be, the notion was there.

I would accept it. T**h**is l**i**t**t**le **o**n**e** would mourn.

But that comes later.

"**Yo**u**r** n**a**m**es**?" I nodded to both she and the corpse. I regretted not asking those back at the gate. But the situation would not have allowed that.

"You are unworthy to know, _Ylisse wretch._" Plegian then, I nodded. I know of their funeral rites.

I stood, she still crouched. I felt the weight of my axe fastened to the back of my belt.

"**V**e**ry** **w**e**l**l." Without a second warning, I leaped at her. Covering the ten remaining metres in mere moments.

"Wha-!" There was a clash of metal. My woodcutter axe once more in hand came down mercilessly on the fumbling lady bandit.

Steel met steel.

T**h**i**s** l**i**t**t**l**e** **o**n**e** locked eyes with my foe over her ornate double-headed axe.

"L**et** **u**s **b**e**gi**n." We stated.

Execution was in session.

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

**[**Elder**]**

A class granted by dint of age and achievement. A mark of prestige as much as it is a class.

Obtained through past heroics and a certain number of years above the average, this class does not grant any specific bonus, though to those of their twilight years stat gains are usually a lesser objective anyway, but grants the highly sought _Wisdom_ stat.

The **[**Elder**]** class is also highly compatible with other classes. Often merging with said class to create an alternate variant. E.g. **[**Elder Scholar**] [**Elder Barbarian**]** **[**Elder Lord**]** **[**Elder Great Knight**]**.

**Pros**: Grants _Wisdom _stat.  
+1 _Wisdom _per level up.  
+0.5 _Charisma _per level up.  
+1 Free stat point per level up.  
+5 Free skill points per level up.  
+10 Free skill points per class level up.

**Cons**: Lesser flat stat gain per level; 1.5 total as opposed to the normal 3 to 5.

.

* * *

.

**[**Wisdom Stat**]**

An ordinarily hidden parameter.

Functionally, there are no stats pertaining directly to the mind. The higher and deeper functions can never truly be measured by numbers.

The Wisdom stat makes no attempt to do so, but rather supplements the mind and magic.

The unlockable stat has been noted as a "force multiplier" by many. The effects and affects of the stat is dependent on the user, but any who manage to unlock _Wisdom _via traditional means would surely make good use of it.

There are a rare few chosen who are born with the stat, usually noted to reach great heights in their chosen fields. It is possible to gain the stat through divine worship or ritual but the _Wisdom _stat is most commonly unlocked via a class.

Some classes that innately grant the Wisdom stat (if not already obtained) are: **[**Elder**] [**Scholar**] [**Warlock**] [**Archmage**] [**High Druid**] [**High Priest**]** **[**Great General**] [**Esteemed Teacher**] [**Sage] and **[**Martial Master**]** amongst others.

.

* * *

.

**[**Woodcutter's axe (new)**]  
****[**Bronze (F- rank)**] **

A commonly crafted, basic tool used to chop wood. Light and quite easy to chip.

**Weight**: 0.7  
**Durability**: 9/9

.

* * *

.

**[**Woodcutter's axe (new)**]  
****[**Iron (F rank)**] **

A commonly crafted, basic tool used to chop wood. Slightly weighty and quite easy to blunt if uncared for.

**Weight**: 1.7  
**Durability**: 13/13

.

* * *

.

**[**Woodcutter's axe (new)**]  
****[**Steel (E rank)**] **

A commonly crafted, basic tool used to chop wood. Nicely balanced weight and quite easy to care for.

**Weight**: 2.3  
**Durability**: 19/19

.

* * *

.

**[**Arayan's Woodcutting axe (2 years old)**]  
****[**Steel (E+ rank)**] **

A commonly crafted, basic tool used to chop wood. Nicely balanced weight and quite easy to care for- but somehow different?

In a certain region, in a certain village, the combinations of letters that spell "Arayan" is a prolific local name. People have noted his axe, though crafted the exact same way as theirs, seemed just a bit weightier.

People have also noted they seemed to get the faintest surge of strength whenever they picked up the axe.

On one occasion, much to the horror of their mothers, a gaggle of children were witnessed lifting and waving the axe with only a slight struggle; something that shouldn't be possible for a girl of five to do.

The children and Arayan himself were scolded quite heavily after. For playing with things they shouldn't and leaving dangerous tools within reach of children respectively.

The phenomenon was observed no further.

**Weight**: 1.9 (1 in the hands of those considered "little ones")  
**Durability**: 18/25

**Pros**: +1 _Strength _to wielder

.

* * *

.

* * *

.

**AN**: Well… errr, what the heck me?

Dunno what happened. Just started writing and didn't stop.

This was meant to be practise, practise doing a female pov and writing in third person, seeing as I'm doing Arturia pov (in _The Changeling_) at the same time, but I got carried away

As I was writing, I really got into it, notably I was looking at the similarities, and differences between Emmeryn and Arturia. Really trying to get in their heads.

(This is all my head-canon unless stated otherwise)

Emmeryn and Arturia are both quite self-deprecating, holding themselves to unreasonable standards, and extremely devoted to their people. They are harsh to themselves, unfairly so, but fair to everyone else.

I'm hesitant to use "kind" instead of "fair" here because Aturia _was _ruling in the Middle Ages, that time was _nasty_. In my story, Arturia is no pure lily, she's **Saber**.

It's Fate/ _canon _that she tore down villages to supply armies that would save more lives and defend the kingdom.

That's where the similarities end and the differences begin. Emm has a supportive family, Arturia has… yeah.

Emm begun with stones being thrown at her (FE canon, looked it up on the wiki) and ended with everyone praising her name.

Arturia… yeah.

Emm ruled during a time of peace, or rather she _made _it peace. Emm lived in a time where people were just sick and tired of war. Allowing her to work her magic.

Arturia… yeah.

When you really compare them, a lot of things end with "Arturia… yeah."

It's unfair really. FE is a game for most ages, Arturia's legend was based on the mythical King Arthur, who ruled during a really shitty time. Not to mention Stay Night was an 18+ graphic visual novel.

Dunno why I'm looking into this so much, but eh. It made for better writing I think?

Also writing females is harder than I thought. I dunno if I succeeded at all, but I was trying to keep the "tone" female-_ish_.

This is generalising, and don't call me out on it would ya, but I tried for a more emotionally driven perspective. As opposed to (lets say) Chrom's hotheadedness, I went for a more introspective character driven by sentiment rather than instinct.

Not that my male characters aren't introspective; when writing first person, monologue is a given, but they are usually driven by logic, or sorting and compartmentalising emotion, rather than being powered by it.

So yeah. I tried a "softer" approach here.

Not sure if it worked. I've re-read it so many times, I've lost the objective perspective.

This one came out sooner than I thought, but don't expect it to become a trend.

Still, I'd love to hear your opinions, on the Emm pov, the third person writing, the game stuff at the end, and whatever else.

Leave a like if it pleases.

Thanks for reading, and I'll see ya next time m'kay?


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